


Ride Captain Ride

by iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid



Series: Oh, Hey There, Mister Blue [3]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: A Typical Night Onboard the Quadrant, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Conversations, Loki is a Guardian of the Galaxy in This Series, Nightmares, Sequel, Slice of Life, Yeah We're Getting to THAT Reveal Kiddos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 17:03:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18167813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid/pseuds/iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid
Summary: There's lots of responsibilities come with being Captain. Peter likes to think it kind of makes him the Team Dad, even though Drax is the only one of them that's ever had a kid, and Loki's got, what, double-digit centuries on him? Plus Gamora's definitely the more responsible of the two of them, and—Look, whatever. He's the Team Dad. And if that means he's gotta stay up all night helping to ease a midnight crisis or two, then, well, he's gonna do it. It's all a part of the job.





	Ride Captain Ride

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a brief timeline of this series:
> 
> 1\. **[Oh, Hey There, Mr. Blue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13061922/chapters/29877600)** : A 75k Infinity War AU, so it takes place when IW did. Sets up the rest of the series.  
> 2\. **[A Supernatural Delight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16553135)** : Takes place in some nebulous time roughly a month or so after OHTMB ends. 2k of plotless fluff, can be read alone, but it's a nice bit of catharsis after the angst-and-action fest that was the first installment.  
> 3\. **Ride Captain Ride** : This one! I originally wrote this oneshot as the prologue to a bigger piece, taking place two months post-OHTMB. It stands on its own just fine, though, so I'm posting it on its own, and if I ever wrangle the multi-chapter that would follow it into something readable, I'll post that separately.
> 
>  **[Everybody Comes a-Running](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18042233)** : This is a fluffy oneshot written by the lovely Infinite_Monkeys, which means if you're subscribed to this series, you still might not have seen it! Woo! More content! I loved it, you'll love it, and anyone who enjoys this series will love it, it's just adorable and well-written and perfectly in-character. Far as I'm concerned, it's canon in this series, and can fit wherever in the timeline you'd like.
> 
> Last note: This is gonna seem like it's veering in the direction of smut at the beginning, but uh... let's just say, rest assured, this fic is only rated T for a reason.

Peter loves what he does.

And really, who wouldn't? He gets to be famous across the galaxy — _several_ galaxies, actually, now that his crew had a hand in taking down Thanos — and he spends all his time exploring space, hopping through jumps and picking up whatever jobs he wants. And he loves the missions, too. The adrenaline, the barely controlled chaos of a good fight, it's all a part of being a Guardian of the Galaxy.

That being said, well, he ain't opposed to enjoying some time off.

Particularly when said _time off_ includes Gamora snagging him by the collar of his jacket and pulling him in for a kiss as soon as they get a moment alone.

He lets out a little, _“Oof!”_ as she pulls him in — one of the perks of dating the deadliest woman in the galaxy is that she sometimes misjudges her own strength — but he doesn't waste a second responding.

They just got paid for their last mission near the outskirts of the Kree empire, shaking up an illegal weapons outfit and sending the ringleaders to the Nova Corps. Most of the crew decided to turn in early for the night, Drax and Loki and Mantis and Rocket and Groot all complaining to varying degrees about being way too tired to stay up. Krag’s on an extended visit to help rebuild Xandar, and Nebula’s taken the night shift manning the controls, since as far as Peter can tell she _literally_ never gets tired.

And that means, for the first time in a long, long time, Peter’s got Gamora all to himself.

He smiles into the kiss and backs her up to the kitchen counter, and as her arms wind around his shoulders she runs her fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck — and she _knows_ what that does to him, so he drops his hands down to grab her by the thighs and hoist her up onto the counter.

Now Gamora's looking down at him. She may have all the superhuman strength, but he's still got six or seven inches on her, so this ain't something she gets to see too often, and she gently pulls at his hair again to break off the kiss, looking down through her lashes and appreciating the view.

Peter takes that as his cue. He dips his head down and kisses that one scar in that real sensitive spot above her collarbone, pecking little kisses along her neck, making his way back up an inch or so at a time.

It makes her giggle, which is a sound he doesn't think is _ever_ gonna get old.

“Peter,” she says, dragging her fingers through his hair again.

“Hmm?” he asks, kissing just beneath her jawline.

“We should—” she cuts off for another giggle, “—we should go up to our room.”

Peter hums in thought, making a real show of it. “I mean, we _could,”_ he admits, kissing right back down her neck again, “but it ain't often I get you all to myself like this. Not sure I’m willing to wait.”

As he gets back down to her collarbone again, it seems, for a second, like he's succeeded in changing her mind about moving.

Until she goes rigid against him and pulls back.

“Peter.”

He lets out a quiet groan, just a little token protest, but then as he pulls back he catches the look on her face.

Or rather, the _color_ on her face.

“Oh, please, don't let me interrupt,” comes a voice from behind them, and Gamora’s face goes from a slightly blue tinge to full on deep purple. “Though if you insist on performing cunnilingus in a public space, might you move it somewhere where we _don't_ prepare all of our food?”

Peter really groans now, loud and annoyed, as he drops his forehead onto Gamora’s shoulder.

Loki’s too damn sneaky for his own good sometimes.

“Seriously, dude? _So_ not cool.”

The only answer is an amused huff from Loki, and then:

“I am Groot?”

“It’s—”

 _“—a word Loki just made up,”_ Peter cuts in, lifting his head and twisting to shoot a glare at Loki, who's leaning against the opposite counter beside a very confused looking Groot. Loki’s got a bowl of cereal in one hand and a spoon in the other, and just _when_ the hell did he get that? How friggin’ long has he been in the kitchen without them noticing?

He pops a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, a smirk on his face that leaves no doubt he knows exactly how annoying he's being. Groot, looking back and forth between all three of them, frowns and protests, “I am Groot.”

“Well, that’s because—”

“Loki,” Peter warns him. Because seriously, Groot might look like an almost grown teenager at this point, but he’s still technically _five._ And weird alien growth cycles be damned, Peter’s not even close to considering giving that talk to a kid that’s only _five._

(Hell, he may or may not even need that talk ever, since his sort-of-Dad spawned him from a broken twig. Is that the standard way a Groot reproduces? Whatever. It’s not something to deal with _now._ )

The five-year-old in question starts to look really annoyed, turning to Loki for confirmation, and Loki just gives a careless shrug and returns his attention to his cereal, tapping the spoon against the bowl for his next bite. “He’s right. I made it up.”

“I am Groot.”

“You don’t have to believe me.”

Gamora presses her palm into Peter’s chest, and he steps back from the counter to give her room enough to hop down.

“Groot,” she says, some of the normal color having returned to her cheeks. “Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?”

“I am Groot.”

“What did I tell you before?” she asks in that gentle Mom voice of hers that she uses for Groot and for Groot alone. “You’ll never grow to your full potential if you don’t sleep properly and regularly.”

“She’s not kidding,” Peter agrees. “You ever see Drax miss a night of sleep?”

“… I am Groot.”

“Exactly. That’s how he got so freakishly huge.”

Groot huffs, crossing his spindly arms in front of his chest. “I am Groot.”

“Yeah, you don’t care _now,_ but take it from me, kiddo, you’re gonna care later. Now come on, we” — and Peter sends a pointed look in Loki's direction to make sure he knows he’s included in the _we_ — “are all gonna go to bed, too. Right, guys?”

“Yes, we are,” Gamora answers right away.

Loki takes another second or two to answer. He raises an eyebrow at Peter, then glances down at Groot and apparently decides to play along. He takes one last spoonful of his cereal, and then he tosses the bowl and spoon into the air, where they both disappear in a shimmer of green. A split second later there’s a soft _clink clink_ from inside the dishwasher.

The friggin’ show-off.

“Of course,” Loki agrees… somewhat convincingly, which is a smart move. Even he definitely doesn’t like the idea of dealing with a cranky, sleep-deprived teenager tomorrow morning.

Peter stuffs his hands into his pockets and tilts his head in the direction of the hallway.

“Yeah, c'mon, we can all—”

He doesn't get the chance to say what they can all do, though. Because at that moment his voice cuts off as a little _shriek_ sounds from just a few doors down the hall, suddenly enough that it actually makes Peter jump.

A short, high-pitched sound from the direction of Mantis’ room.

_Ah, crap._

Gamora stiffens. “Was that—?”

“Mantis,” Loki finishes for her.

And not a second later, of course, both Gamora and Loki spring into action. They're already speeding down the hallway, Groot following worriedly behind with his big long strides, all three of them predictably ignoring Peter's half-whisper half-shout of, _“Wait, guys, hang on!”_

He sprints down the hall to catch up to them, because damn it, he knows exactly what that sound was, and neither Gamora nor Loki seem to realize that it’s not as big of a deal as they think—

They’re too damn fast for him to catch them, not in the short time it takes them to get where they’re going, anyway. And as they reach the end of the hall where Mantis’ bedroom is, Nebula joins up with them, too.

Well, if barreling around the corner like a damn cannonball counts as _joining,_ anyway.

She runs right smack into Loki, throwing her arms up just before impact with those _beyond_ catlike reflexes she's got, which means Loki gets a chest full of mostly-metal elbow that must hurt like a son of a bitch. He falls back a step, Gamora smacks right into his back, Groot smacks right into her, and Peter — grateful, for once, that he hadn't quite caught up with them yet — manages to stop right in the nick of time.

“I heard—”

“A scream, yeah,” Peter cuts Nebula off in a hushed whisper, and he takes advantage of the collision to inject his body between all four of them.

“Is Mantis—?”

“Guys,” he cuts in again, being sure to address all of them, mostly because addressing Nebula alone feels risky. “It's cool, can we just…?”

He brings one finger up to his lips, because they've all just loudly collided with each other right outside the door to Mantis’ room, and if Peter’s instincts are right, Mantis is still asleep.

And then, because of course not _one_ of them has relaxed out of their respective I'm-gonna-kick-the-crap-out-of-someone stance, Peter sighs and gently taps the door. It swings open with the barest little squeak and reveals, as he suspected, an empty room with a Mantis-sized lump of blankets on the bed.

Nebula takes two steps right around Peter, leaning straight through his personal space and into the doorway with her shoulders tense.

“Where is the intruder?”

“There ain't one,” Peter tells her, and as he turns to the rest of them he can see by the look on Gamora’s face that she’s realizing what happened. He explains anyway, for everyone else’s benefit, “Just had a nightmare is all.”

Nebula’s frown deepens, but that death grip she's got on that dagger at her waist lessons just a bit. Peter guesses he’ll take the small victory there.

“Babe,” he says to Gamora, “can you…?”

He doesn’t need to finish his sentence. She gives a quick nod, already understanding, and starts gently nudging Groot away from the room. The two of them start down the hall, but not before Gamora lightly taps Nebula on the shoulder, signaling for her to follow. Loki stands off to the side, hesitant, not quite following the others yet but not looking like he’s fixing to go into Mantis’ room any time soon, either.

“I am Groot?” Groot quietly asks, looking over his shoulder.

“She’ll be alright,” Gamora tells him. “Peter will make sure of it. He is very good at helping with this sort of thing.”

And, well, she ain’t wrong about that. Between all those years with the Ravagers who always fell asleep piled all around each other and had zero concept of privacy, and then all these years with the family he's got now, Peter's practically become a certified _expert_ at this sort of thing.

Nebula follows just a few steps behind Gamora and Groot, nervously tensing and untensing her fists at her sides like she doesn't know what to do with them. She doesn’t look back, but she looks like she’s itching to punch something. Like she was geared for a fight and can’t figure out how to switch the gears back, now that there isn’t a fight to be had.

Loki, on the other hand, still hesitates where he’s at. He opens his mouth, but whatever he might have been about to say seems to get stuck on its way out, and his jaw tightens for half a beat before he shakes his head and turns away, following the others on their way down the hall with only a fleeting glance at Mantis’ door.

Peter wants to worry about that, and about Nebula, but he doesn’t let himself.

_Mantis first._

He ducks into the room, and he gently shuts the door behind him. The light from out in the hall winks away, and Mantis’ room is nothing but a bunch of dull muted grays and darker silhouettes, the only light coming from the colorful pinprick of stars outside her one circular window.

Peter sighs and heads over to the bed. As he gets closer, he can tell Mantis is definitely still dreaming, and her own little frightened scream, apparently, wasn’t enough to pull her out of the nightmare. She turns over in her sleep, tightly clutching her pillow with one white-knuckled fist. It’s not the first time he’s seen one of them like this — hell, it ain’t even the first time he’s seen _Mantis_ like this. He knows what to do. He’s got it down to a science at this point.

He crouches down so she won’t see a six-foot-something silhouette looming over her bed the second she wakes up, and he whispers, “Mantis?”

No answer.

“Hey, Mantis?” he tries again, a little louder this time. “Wake up, you’re having a nightmare.”

She lets out a frightened gasp, or maybe a sob, it’s hard to tell when she’s still asleep, and she is definitely still asleep. Talking to her clearly isn’t working, so on instinct Peter moves on to the next logical step —

— and holy _shit,_ was that a boneheaded move.

The second his hand touches her shoulder, he can’t —

— oh, _shit, shit, shitshitshit_ —

— he can’t think, he can’t move a muscle _._ Fear constricts his lungs, sends ice racing down to every nerve ending. The air stalls halfway through his trachea and shit, _shit,_ he can’t _breathe_ now —

Mantis jerks awake with another shriek, throwing herself upright and, in the process, cutting the connection.

Peter’s butt hits the floor. The cold feeling in his veins starts to dissipate, leaving his arms and legs feeling like jelly and his pulse still hammering away in his temples.

“It — it’s okay,” he stammers anyway, rushing to say it before his voice really fully comes back to him, because shit, if the nightmare was really _that bad,_ she sure as hell needs to hear it. “Hey, Mantis, it’s — it’s me. You’re okay.”

Her breathing is uneven, fast, _way_ too fast, like she’s hyperventilating. And Peter scrambles onto his shaky legs, climbing up to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Hey, look at me, you’re okay.”

There are tears running down her cheeks already, her bright eyes wider than ever, but at least she finally seems to recognize him sitting in front of her now.

“… Peter?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he says, offering her the steadiest smile he can manage. And even though he knows it’s probably a really bad idea, even though the smarter part of him is screaming not to, the other part of him that’s just plain worried for Mantis thinks, _screw it,_ and he reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder.

The effect is roughly the same, but subdued. This time around, when she’s awake and sort of in control, all the touch does is send a shudder through him. Just a faint bit of fear, and worry, and the tiniest bit of embarrassment that turns his cheeks red.

No turning his guts to puddy this time. Awesome.

With a little sigh of relief he gently tugs her forward, and without a second’s hesitation she just collapses into him, winding her arms tight around his waist. She’s full on crying now, and every sob that comes out of her seems to reach straight into his chest and grab onto his heart and _squeeze,_ sending the corners of his eyes burning, and he really can’t tell if that’s just normal old empathy or Mantis-brand empathy. Probably a bit of both.

Either way, it really, _really_ sucks, and if it sucks for him, he knows it’s gotta suck a whole lot more for her.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Peter says, half to her and half to himself.

 _Come on, man,_ he scolds himself, _you know what to do here. Shake it off._

He’s got one arm around her shoulders, and with the other he starts running a hand up and down her back like he always does for Gamora when _she_ wakes up from a particularly bad nightmare. He drops his chin down onto the top of her head, forcing himself to take a breath to get his own crying under control.

Magic empathy powers or not, Mantis needs him to be the strong one right now.

“It’s okay,” he says again. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on his own emotions, hoping maybe some of it’ll bleed through to her. He thinks of something calming — piloting the Milano through clear, open space is the first thing that comes to mind — and, well, it seems to work a little bit. His own heart rate slows. Mantis’ arms around his waist loosen to something that’s slightly less of a death grip.

Her breath hitches, and she tries to explain, “I was— I couldn’t—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, giving her a little squeeze. A little bit of guilt sinks like a stone into his stomach. “Hey, no, I mean it. It’s okay. What did I say last time, huh? We _all_ have nightmares. You’re allowed to get scared every once in a while, too.”

Mantis sniffs, miserably rubbing her face on his shirt. He keeps on running his hand up and down her back, until she seems to regain control over her own power, until all the ache in his own chest starts to feel more like his own, until her breathing slows down and evens out a bit. Whatever the nightmare was, she’s clearly in no shape to get into it — not that Peter would make her talk about it anyway. Instead he just keeps on sitting with her, and he starts humming to fill the silence. He hums all the way through _O-o-h Child,_ twice, then shifts over to _Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,_ then _O-o-h Child_ again.

It takes a long, long while, but eventually, grogginess starts to pull his eyelids shut, and he knows that ain’t coming from him.

“You’re okay,” he whispers into her hair before he shifts, settling her back down so that her head sinks into the pillow. He moves the hair from her face and then grabs the blanket with both hands and fluffs it out, pulls it up to cover her all the way up to her shoulders.

For another few minutes he just sits there with a hand on her upper back, his thumb moving back and forth. But she doesn’t make so much as another sound, hardly gives a twitch, and the only emotion flowing from her to him is a bone-deep exhaustion that could have him falling asleep right here in a few seconds if he ain’t careful.

He sighs and gives her back one last pat, standing up and heading for the door.

Once he steps out into the hallway, though, he gets his second near-heart-attack of the night —

— because someone is standing right outside Mantis’ door.

 _“Jesus,_ dude. A little warning, huh?”

It’s Loki, scaring the absolute friggin’ pants off of him as  _usual_  by just appearing out of nowhere.

At least this time he didn’t literally appear out of thin air. Because he does do that sometimes. This time he’s standing with his back to the wall across from Mantis’ door, arms crossed over his chest, looking like he’s been there for at least a few minutes. Like he walked away and then turned right back around and hasn’t moved since. He barely acknowledges Peter’s complaint, glancing at him only once before his eyes drift over to the room behind him.

“What happened there?” Loki asks.

He says it so casually, like, no, of course he doesn’t actually care what happened, he’s just _curious,_ but…

If that was the case, why would he stand outside Mantis’ door for that whole time, apparently waiting for Peter to come out so he can ask — even when everybody else retreated to their rooms like they were supposed to? Loki already knew it was a nightmare, Peter told them all that much.

Peter softens, and he wipes at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Nothing, man, it’s cool. Like I said, she was having a nightmare. Happens to the best of us.”

“About?”

“Uh— I dunno, I didn’t ask,” he says with a shrug. Loki lets out a huff, rolling his eyes, and Peter suddenly feels the need to defend himself. “Hey, she was kinda wound up, I wasn’t about to go interrogating her. It was just a nightmare.”

“Just a nightmare,” Loki repeats, quietly, his eyes on Mantis’ door again. “Less than two months after she was inside the Mad Titan’s head.”

“Well, yeah, but…” Peter trails off, wondering what exactly that has to do with anything. Because, yeah, she was in the purple asshole’s head for a bit, and yeah, that could definitely have been what brought on the nightmare, but they all have their own baggage from Thanos. So what does it matter to Loki if—?

_Oh._

It’s like a light bulb coming on. He gets it. He gets why Loki’s so concerned, why he’s trying so hard to act like he’s _not_ concerned, why he’s tense as friggin’ load-bearing wire and drumming his fingers on his arm like that, and why he looks kind of, sort of, maybe a little bit guilty.

The big. Damn. _Softie._

Peter claps a hand on Loki’s shoulder with a sympathetic smile and guides him away from the wall. Luckily, Loki goes along with him, since Peter knows he technically isn’t strong enough to actually move an Asgardian that doesn’t want to move. He starts off down the hallway, one hand on Loki’s back.

“She’s fine, man. She was sleeping like a baby when I left.”

“Right,” Loki answers, sounding totally unconvinced, and he starts shrugging himself away from Peter’s hand. “Well, I should get back to—”

“Hey, come on,” Peter cuts him off. “Have a drink with me.”

Loki frowns at him. “Why?”

“Because… I’m gonna have a drink? And you’re awake?” Peter asks with a shrug, and he gestures with a nod toward the room that he’s been affectionately calling the Living Room, and Drax has been calling the Room With The Couch And Television, and Rocket’s been calling the Terra Room. He ain’t sure what Loki calls it, but it’s the one with a cabinet full of booze and a comfy place to sit. Peter starts walking toward it, hoping Loki might follow.

He does, eventually.

When Peter gets to the Living Room and starts rifling through the bottles and cans in the cabinet, he hears Loki stepping into the room behind him.

“Do you often drink this late?”

“Ain’t no such thing as ‘late’ when you’re in space, man,” Peter answers as he grabs two cans of Contraxian beer for himself. One shelf up, there’s a bunch of tall silver cans in a box labelled with marker: _DO NOT DRINK IF YOU’RE NOT LOKI - YOU WILL GET ALCOHOL POISONING AND DIE._ Peter plucks a can out of there, too, and tosses it over his shoulder. “Here ya go.”

He turns to see Loki reading the side of the can with his brow creased. “You’ve been to Sakaar?”

“Huh? Oh, uh— no. Is that where that’s from?” Peter asks, popping open his own can. “Valkyrie gave us the box before we left Earth. Said it’s one of the only things that’ll get past an Asgardian metabolism, and I figured it ain’t too fair if you’re the only guy on the ship that can’t get a good buzz, am I right?”

Loki’s giving him a weird look now, but Loki gives him that look a lot — like he has no friggin’ clue what goes on in Peter’s head sometimes — so Peter doesn’t acknowledge it, just flings himself down onto the couch.

He takes a minute to chug the first half of the can, lets out a breath, and says, “Yeah, definitely needed this. Hugging a terrified empath really takes a lot out of a guy.”

The only indication that Loki heard is the barest little nod, and he sits down on the opposite end of the couch, absently plucking at the tab of the can in his hands, staring straight ahead at nothing. Peter tilts his head and watches him, debating for a few seconds.

Beating around the bush probably won’t help much, he thinks. And it was never his style anyway.

“It ain’t your fault, y’know.”

He was expecting one of two things to happen when he said that. The first would’ve been confusion, Loki shooting another one of those what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-your-brain looks his way. The second would’ve been angry denial, because _of course it’s not my fault, why would it be?_

He gets neither of those, though.

Loki just keeps fiddling with the tab on his can, eyes downcast now. Then, quietly and calmly, he raises an eyebrow at his hands and murmurs, “I never said it was.”

“Well, that’s good, ‘cause it isn’t.”

Loki nods slowly, and Peter sees him start to chew on the inside of his cheek. “It _was_ my idea to have her subdue Thanos, though.”

“So?”

That’s enough to throw him off. Loki jolts like that answer actually startled him, and he looks up at Peter with — yup, _there_ it is. The what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-your-brain look.

Peter takes another sip of his beer and shrugs. “So it was your idea, big whoop. She agreed to it, didn’t she?”

“It’s not as if there was much choice.”

“Uh, yeah, no duh. There wasn’t much choice for anybody. Not Mantis, and definitely not you, man,” Peter says, gesturing at Loki by tipping his beer can in his direction. “You did what you thought was best, and so did she, and so did Gamora and Nebula and all the rest of us.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Dude, listen,” Peter cuts him off. And yeah, maybe it’s weird for him to give advice to a guy that’s literally like thirty times his age, but whatever. It’s the middle of the night, and _Peter’s_ got no worries about the fight with Thanos now that it’s over, and apparently Loki does. Seems good enough reason to give advice in his book. “I’ve seen my fair share of maniacs that wanna see whole planets and whole Universes fall apart, and I’m telling ya, it’s always the same. They always gotta be stopped, and stopping ‘em always leaves whoever stopped ‘em with a whole hell of a lot of baggage.”

It’s true; Peter remembers how torn up Rocket was after Xandar, how he barely spoke to anyone and clung to that little pot of dirt like his life depended on it. He remembers how shaken Mantis and Kraglin and Rocket and Groot all were after — well, _after._ Peter still flinches away from thinking on that for too long, for fear that all he’ll be able to think about is _light and scorching burning bursting from the inside and infinity on and on and on and on and this is your purpose_ —

He shakes his head. He’s dealt with that. Mostly.

“Actually,” he amends, “a ‘whole hell of a lot’ is kind of, uh… what, an underexaggeration? _De_ xaggeration?”

“Understatement.”

“Right. Yeah, that,” Peter says, and he takes a few more gulps of his beer, drains it, and cracks open the second. “We all end up taking a turn being the most shaken up after a fight like that. But the point is we _did_ it. Be honest with me, man. If you could go back, would you do it any other way?”

Loki opens his mouth, closes it, and then rolls his eyes. “I suppose not.”

“Exactly, ‘cause it worked. We beat the bad guy. That’s what matters. And look, Gamora used to have nightmares every single night about the purple dickhead and all the shitty stuff he did.” Not to mention all the shitty stuff he made her do, Peter doesn’t add, because that’s Gamora’s business to tell, not his. “But now it’s only, like, once a week. And yeah, if I’m being honest, Mantis ain’t doing so hot right now, but guess what? That’s her right, seein’ as she was inside the asshole’s head for a bit there. But she’ll come around.”

Loki chews on his cheek again, still looking down and playing with the tab on his can. He takes a breath and says, “You seem… oddly confident about that.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’ve seen it before, man,” Peter says. “Hell, I’ve _been_ there before. I know she’ll be fine, ‘cause she’s got us.” He pauses, and then adds, “We all got each other.”

Hopefully Loki gets what he means by that. Because, yeah, Mantis and Gamora and Nebula and Drax all have their shit to work through after Thanos, but it’s hard to forget what Loki looked like when they first pulled him off that ship, too, and how unhinged he was when he woke up, and how he all but squeezed the life out of his brother when it was all over and he didn’t let go for a real, real long time.

They all got each other. _All_ of them.

“Anyway,” Peter says, “stop moping about how your _literal_ Universe-saving plan gave Mantis some nightmares, will you? And if you don’t relax and start drinking that fancy Asgardian beer soon I’m gonna take it from you and down it myself.”

“It’s not Asgardian,” Loki mildly corrects, though he does finally pop it open. The drink inside gives a higher-pitched hiss than most drinks do.

“Yeah, yeah, Sakaaran, whatever.”

Loki takes a sip from it, then another, and another, and he looks like he barely manages to suppress a wince at the taste as he lowers it. Then, holding the can between his hands and nervously flitting his fingers over its side, he seems to think something over for a second before he says without looking at Peter:

“I’m not Asgardian, either, Quill.”

Peter blinks.

Well, that’s… a weird change of subject, isn’t it? Or maybe it’s not, he thinks. It sounds like, maybe, it’s something Loki’s been building up the stones to say out loud for a while now. Peter’s _definitely_ been there once or twice.

Still, at first he swears he heard it wrong. He raises an eyebrow at Loki, looks him up and down again real quick. He looks the same as he always has, same human-like complexion the Asgardians all have, same dark hair, same pale eyes. But then again, lots of alien races look alike, don't they? Totally stands to reason he could be one of any number of species, really.

But he said it so _miserably,_ like the fact that he’s not Asgardian is something he hates admitting. And he still ain't looking up.

Okay…

Tread carefully, then. Sure.

“Huh,” Peter says. “No kidding?”

Loki shakes his head. “If we’re being… honest with each other,” he says, hesitantly, and he says the word _honest_ like he’s just trying it out, like he’s not quite sure how it works just yet, “then I suppose you should know.”

“So—” Peter starts to ask, then shuts his mouth.

Because he’s not actually sure what he’s gonna ask. He doesn’t really care why Loki didn't bring it up earlier, since it’s never been all that relevant anyway, and he can’t ask _what are you then_ because, well, that’s just friggin’ rude, isn’t it?

“Wait, hang on,” he says as another thought occurs to him, “so is Thor not Agardian, either?”

Ah, crap. Wrong thing to say. Loki still doesn't look up, and… it’s not exactly annoyance that flashes across his face, something a little more muted than that, maybe a little more pained.

_Damn it, dumbass, that ain't treading carefully._

“Sorry,” he automatically says, “I just mean—”

“Thor is of Asgard,” Loki interrupts, his voice carefully even, cutting off Peter's apology. “I am not. I was born in a place called Jotunheim.”

_Jotunheim?_

Peter opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. His brow furrows. “You…” he says, stops, and then can't help the little snort that comes out of him. Because no, Loki definitely can't mean what Peter thinks he means. He’s gotta be kidding. Peter asks anyway, “You trying to tell me you're a Frost Giant?”

Loki, surprisingly, just closes his eyes and gives one single nod.

So either he's dead serious, or he's messing with Peter and has one hell of a poker face.

“No way,” Peter says, shaking his head. “Aren't Frost Giants supposed to be like… you know, giant?” He raises his hand up in the air, way above his and Loki’s heads, to demonstrate exactly how _giant_ he means — and he's still pretty sure he's lowballing it, if the stories are right. “And I _know_ they're supposed to be blue with like, horns and whatnot. Which, uh… you don't really fit that bill, man.”

Loki sighs, and the sound comes out like he's feeling every single one of his thousand-and-whatever years.

And then there’s a shimmer that cascades over him, not all that unlike his magic — but not exactly _right,_ either, like it's somehow fainter than it’s supposed to be — and Loki transforms.

Well, Peter thinks, the stories definitely didn’t get it a hundred percent right. Or at least, the stories Peter’s heard in a hundred different ways through a hundred different people in a hundred different places, half of which were probably outright bullshit, didn’t get it right. Idiots in seedy bars bragging about adventures and triumphant battles that never actually happened.

For one, Loki’s skin’s a little darker of a blue than Peter would have expected, and it makes the crazy bright red of his eyes stand out that much more, eyes that were definitely never mentioned in any of the stories Peter ever heard. He looks _scarred,_ too, all over, but Peter knows it’s gotta be some kind of marking, not real scars, or else he figures he’d have always seen them even when Loki looked like… well, when he looked like Loki.

He still does look like Loki, though. Mostly.

There’s a cold draft in the room now, so cold that Peter can see his own breath like a plume of fog. The beer in Loki’s claw-tipped hands is letting out a high pitched whine — and then Peter realizes it’s the _metal,_ shrieking as it freezes so quick that it almost collapses in on itself before Loki changes back.

In a blink, he looks like himself again. The frost creeping up his beer starts to dissipate. The metal _pops_ back into shape. The cold draft in the room recedes, just barely, though the temperature’s still well below what it’s supposed to be.

Peter gasps and lightly hits Loki in the arm.

“That’s why you're so cold all the time!”

Loki blinks, then he raises an eyebrow at Peter like he’s lost his mind.

“I thought it was, y’know, magic,” Peter explains, wiggling his fingers in the air. “But you always run cold I guess, huh?” He pauses, drumming his fingers on his own beer can. “So is that how you always look like, uh… like this? Magic?”

“It… is, yes,” Loki says, his voice all quiet and confused, and he’s eyeing Peter up and down with narrowed eyes, like he expects… something. Peter’s not sure what.

“Doesn’t that get annoying, though? Keeping up a magic act all around the clock?”

“I— no, it—” Loki stammers. He actually _stammers,_ which is way out of sync for him. He shakes his head. “I’ve been maintaining the glamour all my life. I never even realized I was doing it. It actually takes a great deal of effort to _lower_ it at this point.”

“Huh,” Peter says.

That makes sense, he thinks. Like a reflex. Or muscle memory, a thousand-some-odd years in the making.

He takes another sip of his beer. “Neat.”

For a second, Loki just blinks, still staring at him like he’s grown a second head, and then he echoes, _“Neat?”_

“Uh… yeah?”

“Quill, you just discovered I’ve been lying to all of you about my _species_ the entire time you’ve known me, that I—” Loki stammers again, waving his hand in the air “—that I’m one of the monsters from horror stories of old, and all you have to say is _neat?”_

“I mean,” Peter says, “I hate to break it to you, man, but you’re not that scary. Nebula is way scarier than you. And you’re sure as hell not monster movie material. You’re just… a different kind of alien than we thought you were.” He shrugs. “Why? Is that supposed to be a big deal?”

“I’m a _Frost Giant.”_

“Okay, first of all, dude. Giant? You’re like, six foot one. Maybe six two.”

“I’m—” Loki starts to say, but he seems too flabbergasted to continue for a second. He shakes his head, then sags back into the couch with a totally dumbfounded look on his face. “I’m a _small_ Frost Giant, then. But regardless. I’ve been lying to all of you for weeks.”

“Eh, not really,” Peter says. “You’re Thor’s brother, so that makes you at least kind of Asgardian, right? And it’s not like we ever really _asked,_ anyway.”

Loki only stares at him, and the look on his face, combined with what he’s said so far, gives Peter the fuzzy sort of impression that this kind of reveal has been handled… less well, in the past. For whatever reason. Because from the way he talks about them, Loki seems to think that Frost Giants are all monsters, like the really bad kind, all of them, across the board. Even though he _is_ one.

That’s… messed up.

Yeah. _Messed up._ That about sums it up.

And of course, Peter can relate to the whole… “being a different species than you thought you were and kinda hating it”… front. But that’s a conversation for another day, in the far future. The very, very far future. Also maybe never.

“Hey, man, you’re on a spaceship full of aliens,” Peter says. His words are flippant, but he’s careful to keep his voice gentle. “So you’re blue and you have, like, ice powers or something. Big deal.” He shrugs again. “Seriously, you could be an A’askavariian in disguise and none of us would probably think twice about it.”

Loki gives a huff that might be a laugh. Some of the tension in his shoulders seems to have leveled off, and he asks, “An A’askavariian? You’re certain about that?”

“Oh, we’d probably make some tentacle jokes, once we thought of ‘em,” Peter admits with a smirk as Loki takes another sip of his Sakaaran beer, “but, uh, I wouldn’t really have all that much room to talk at least, seein’ as I hooked up with one once.”

The intended effect goes through without a hitch; Peter even timed the admission perfectly. Loki was halfway through a sip of his drink and chokes on it, face reddening as he coughs into his fist.

By the time Loki regains his breath a full ten seconds later, he leans forward, his forearms on his knees, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“Oh, come on,” Peter says.

“You—? An _A’askavariian_ —”

“Yes, an A’askavariian, dude!”

“An _A’askavariian?!”_

“It ain't that bad!”

“No, that— that’s just it! It is!” Loki says, and he leans back, fanning his own face to try and stop himself from actually crying.

“Ya done?”

Loki shakes his head, still smiling, and he takes another sip of his beer. It’s the last one, apparently, since he tosses the empty can over his shoulder a second later — and winks it out of existence midair with a shimmer of green magic, just like he did with the dishes. Peter’s tempted to call him a show-off for it out loud this time, but the thing is, Loki barely even seems to realize he did it.

“Quill, you don’t understand. I’ve been around for a very, very long time,” Loki tells him, wiping a tear from his eye, “and I’ve slept with, well, species you’ve likely never even _heard_ of, to be honest. All manner of creatures. I even once slept with what I’m quite certain was a fae in disguise, though Thor still insists it was a daemon.” He pauses, staring vaguely into space as he thinks, and then adds as an afterthought, “In Thor’s defense, though, they _did_ try to steal my soul afterward.”

There’s a soft clink from within the booze cabinet, and in the same instant, a second tall can of Sakaaran beer appears out of nothing in Loki’s waiting hand.

“And you,” Loki says, popping open the can and pointing to Peter with it, “have, against all odds, _actually done worse.”_

Rather than defend himself, Peter rolls his eyes and says, “Gimme a sip of that,” and he plucks the can from Loki’s hand. He gives it a cautious sniff first — it smells like the wax Rocket uses to grease their weapons, combined with like, vinegar or something — but when he takes the smallest little sip of it, it’s sweet and vaguely spicy and it goes down like ice and fire at the same time. Strong for sure, _real_ strong, too strong for him to drink much more of it. He hands it back to Loki with a shrug. “Eh. Not bad. And hey, laugh all you want, but at least she didn’t try to steal my freakin’ soul, man.”

Loki tilts his head as if to say, _yeah, that’s fair._

“The Kree girl that caught me with her, now, _she_ tried to rip my thorax out, but… yeah. No soul-stealing,” Peter says, washing down the taste of Loki’s super-strong-Sakaaran beer with the last of his own. “How’s that work, anyway?”

Loki shoots him a look out of the corner of his eye, and a smile slowly spreads over his face. “Would you like to hear the story?”

“About you hooking up with someone who tried to _steal your soul?”_ Peter asks. “Nah, sounds totally boring. I’m kidding. Obviously I wanna hear about you hooking up with someone that tried to steal your soul, man. Just let me get another beer first.”

He hops up, noting with a little bit of pride that he’s just on the more sober side of tipsy. Contraxian beer’s about as strong as two or three would be on Earth, but Peter Jason Quill ain’t never been a lightweight, no _sir._ He snatches up his third can from the cabinet, spins around, and flops back onto the couch.

“Alright, man, shoot. Tell me all about the super hot demon.”

“Fae.”

“Demon fairy, yep, got it.”

Loki has, by now, pulled his legs up onto the couch cushion to sit cross-legged on it, and he takes another sip of the Sakaaran beer with a thoughtful look on his face. “Well,” he begins, “believe it or not, the story begins on Earth, some six hundred years ago…”

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like Loki and Peter would bond over their bizarre intergalactic one night stands.
> 
> Also, y'all notice the coming out parallels in the Frost Giant reveal? Because I sure as hell didn't! Not until I'd already written it, and I was like "hey I wonder why this was so cathartic to write" a.k.a. I'm a dumbass. And don't worry, the rest of the team's gonna find out eventually, too. We all know they wouldn't care, but Loki is... deeply uncomfortable with revealing it, hence the tense little admission of it when it's just him and Peter in the middle of the night. All things come with time.


End file.
